


Lonely

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [22]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-20
Updated: 2006-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was all alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to "He Didn’t Expect To Be Alone"

The top floor of the dilapidated building was nearly silent, the only noise being a quiet muttering and growling behind a closed door. The sunlight was beginning to fade, and the power had gone out once again. Muted car horns could be heard from outside, and through the floorboards the girl downstairs could be heard getting ready for work. A gunshot sounded faintly in the distance. Nothing affected the young filmmaker though, as seemed completely removed from the world around him.  
  
Mark sat sullenly on his bed, staring straight ahead but not really taking in the view of the loft before him. All he saw was his life falling to pieces. His former best friend had abandoned him for a more comfortable life with the wealthy landlord’s daughter. His films weren’t any good. His girlfriend was out with, well, guys who weren’t named Mark Cohen. He was cold and hungry. And he was all alone to get his roommate through heroin withdrawal. He was all alone.  
  
He was doing a good job though. Although, there wasn’t much to do since he kept Roger locked away in his room for the most part. He did let him out into the loft a couple times each day, letting him get some air and take care of business. After a few early episodes, Mark had taken care to remove anything dangerous from Roger’s reach. Everything even mildly hazardous had taken up residence in Mark’s sock drawer, which kept everything safe for Roger. But not for Mark, which was why Mark sat on his bed staring at the bottom of a now empty bottle.  
  
Mark had quickly swallowed the painkiller for the headache that was making his head feel like it was trapped in a vice, but his eyes had been drawn to the other white little pills in the bottle. He had poured them into his hand, not knowing how many there were. And that was how he got to where he was, staring blankly into the loft, a crying roommate in the next room, and a hand full of painkillers.  
  
He was just so lonely. In one of his few recent bursts of inspiration, he had filmed the appearance of the night sky. The sun had set triumphantly amongst the reds and oranges and pinks and purples, leaving the sky in darkness. Then it had appeared. The North Star came into view, all by its lonesome. There weren’t even any other stars to keep it company, and the moon was too self-involved and focused on what it wanted to help any. Mark told himself that he wasn’t projecting his own feelings on a giant ball of gas millions upon millions of miles away.  
  
He didn’t need to be so lonely though. He didn’t need to live like this. All it would take to end all this was one quick swallow. Just gulp them down. Don’t think. Thinking ruins everything. Sometimes he thought that everything was about to go back to normal, then Roger would have another episode, or Maureen would come home smelling like another person’s cologne (or perfume), or Benny would ignore another phone call, or some other shit.  
  
He wished that life could go back to the way it was before April. He’d even settle for how life was at Brown, with the classes he hated and the mindless work that made him sick. Sometimes he even wished that he was back at home with his head on his mother’s lap, her soft hands stroking his hair. Don’t wish. Don’t start. Wishing only ruins the heart. Wishing only made him remember how bad everything was.  
  
All it would take was one quick swallow.  
  
Mark jumped as the door to the loft swung open and quickly dumped the pills back into the orange bottle, stuffing them under his mattress.  
  
“Markie boy! Where ya at?”  
  
“In here,” Mark tried to yell back, his voice sounding raspier and more broken than he had hoped. The loft came back into focus as he reentered the realm of the living and aware, and he looked up into the eyes of the tall man who had appeared in his doorway. “What are you doing here Collins?”  
  
“I thought you might want some company,” the older man explained, pushing Mark to the side as he dropped down onto the mattress.  
  
“But what about…”  
  
“We’re on break, I don’t need to be back at MIT for a few days.” Collins sent one of his big “I’m here, don’t you love me” smiles the filmmaker’s way, tossing an arm around Mark’s shoulders. “I know things have been kinda rough lately, but I want you to know, I’ll always be here for you. If you need me, just give me a call. I’ll be on the first flight back.”  
  
Mark nodded sullenly, leaning into the embrace his friend was offering him. He felt tears prickling in his eyes too, but he kept them from falling. “You’re growing up son, and Cohen men don’t cry,” his father had told him. And little Markie Cohen had always wanted to please his father, even though he always failed miserably.  
  
“It’s okay to cry you know,” Collins whispered. Then again, what was the advice of a grumpy bitter old man compared to that of anarchist who had once run naked through the Parthenon?  
  
The first tear was what did it. Once that fell, there was no stopping them. Mark promised himself that this wouldn’t happen again, it was just a one time thing to relieve some tension. He ignored how desperately and tightly Collins shirt was fisted in his hand.  
  
Collins whispered assurances that he knew were barely been heard, rubbing soothing circles on his friends back. He noticed that the fitful noises he had heard coming from Roger’s room when he had entered had stopped just as Mark had begun to sob. He silently and effortlessly pulled out the small orange bottle, slipping it into his pocket without Mark noticing. Mark would never feel lonely again, not if Collins could help it.


End file.
